


How Else Was He Supposed To Learn?

by dendriticgold



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 16:39:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1435435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dendriticgold/pseuds/dendriticgold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy has a proposal for Alfred. AU within S3 CS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

By some extreme cock up of logic that redefined the essence of the word 'fail' Jimmy and Alfred were both sat side by side, bored out of their skulls, each with a full solitaire spread of cards sitting in front of them on the table.

The idea of actually playing cards together, and wondering how one or both of them had been so dense as to not think of it in the first place, had periodically surfaced in their minds over the course of the last couple of hours, but neither of them had the will to actually vocalise it.

It had been a very long day.

So long that the idea of climbing the stairs, like making the effort to start up a proper card game, was completely un-actionable given their current level of exhaustion.

Alfred had made the token 'We should go up' suggestion about half an hour earlier, but the suggestion lacked conviction and Jimmy hadn't bothered to reply.

The corridor outside the servant's hall was dark, Mr Carson having already turned out the lights with the strict orders that the two Footmen should be off to bed immediately. That had been about two hours ago.

Groaning a little, disgruntled in his fatigue, Alfred let his mind wander as he shifted a card into a position that was wrong for both it's color and number. Of course, it wandered to Ivy.

It wandered over her silky hair, the little wisps of it that sometimes strayed over her temples; down to her cheeks and how…suggestive the flush of color had looked before Mrs Patmore made her wash the rouge off; down to her lips that always had teasing and dismissive and oh so maddeningly welcome words for him; down to the skin of her neck, as smooth and white as that of any noble lady, skin that would be so soft to touch with fingers and lips; and the wide collar of the green-checked dress that dipped into a smart V at her breast-bone showing just a little more than one would usually see; the little buttons that could be undone in order to see more…

A snort of laughter rapidly brought Alfred back to the present.

'Well no need to ask what you're thinking about.' Said Jimmy with a raised eyebrow, card game forgotten, head resting on his palm, looking pointedly down at Alfred's crotch area.

'Shut up.' Mumbled Alfred shifting a little in his seat to make the protruding appendage slightly less obvious.

Jimmy laughed again in amusement at Alfred's embarrassment.

'It'll go away in a minute!' Alfred asserted gruffly, turning vigorously back to his card game to end the uncomfortable exchange.

Jimmy's eyes lingered a moment more before he dropped his elbow off the table and turned back to his own deck of cards. He ran his fingers lightly over the edges of one of the rows of cards for a while before speaking.

'Alfred do you ever…' He said softly, trailing off.

'What?' Said Alfred, dearly hoping for a change in topic.

'…touch yourself, down there.'

Alfred wasn't entirely sure what to make of that particular query. And his eyes reflected that as he snapped his head around to stare at Jimmy in intense confusion.

'It's just…I do.' Said Jimmy with a dismissive shrug.

'Alright.' Said Alfred, for want of a better response, still staring at him dubiously.

'Do you?' Jimmy persisted.

'I suppose.' Said Alfred quietly, turning back to his cards.

Jimmy watched him silently for a moment before speaking again.

'Has anyone else ever done it for you?'

'What?!' Said Alfred, turning back towards him again, this time with a deep frown. 'Why would anyone else have…?'

'Women do it sometimes.' Said Jimmy, with no greater preamble than if he had been stating a 'did you know' fact off the back of a cigarette packet. 'They do it for their men.'

'Oh…' Said Alfred softly, his mind drifting back to Ivy but then quickly redirecting; finding the notion that Jimmy described horrendously improper when it came to his dreams of (he sincerely hoped) his future wife.

'I was just wondering…' Jimmy said, very tentatively. '…what it…how it works when someone else is doing it. I mean, do they do it like you would do it yourself…or are there other…things.'

'How would I bloody know!?' Hissed Alfred, hunching stiffly over the table, desperately trying to pretend to be playing cards.

Jimmy swallowed heavily.

'Would you tell me?' He said quietly, shifting his chair a tiny bit closer to Alfred's.

'How can I when I haven't…?'

Jimmy bit his lip.

'If I did it for you, would you tell me?' He said quietly.

'What the fuck are you on about!?' Alfred grunted, staring at the cards in front of him so intently that it was a wonder they didn't go up in flames.

'I could do it for you…' Said Jimmy, looking at him intently. 'Then you could tell me if what I'm doing is…good.'

'But why would you want…?' Alfred began.

'Does it matter?' Said Jimmy quickly in a harsh voice. He calmed himself down before continuing. 'The point is…' He said levelly. 'I want to know how it works to use my hand on someone else, and you…' Jimmy flicked his eyes down. '…could use a hand, couldn't you?'

Alfred looked down at the table in horrified silence.

'I don't mean anything by it!' Said Jimmy.

Alfred said nothing.

'I'm just asking if I can…' Jimmy said softly. '…touch it, try some things out. That's all. You don't have to do anything. Just tell me if it…feels good.' Jimmy practically whispered the last part and Alfred was intensely disturbed by the prickles of (distress?…anticipation?…arousal?) that suddenly shivered up the back of his neck at Jimmy's words.

'And who are you practicing for then, eh?' Said Alfred gruffly.

Jimmy's nostrils flared slightly at the insinuation, but he otherwise ignored Alfred's question except to note with satisfaction that Alfred hadn't actually refused him.

'Am I to take that as a 'yes' then?' Jimmy whispered, shifting his chair that little bit closer.

Alfred didn't move, save to uncross his legs at the ankle and give a noncommittal shrug as he made a show of pretending to carry on with his game of solitaire. A game he was destined to lose as while his fingers were busy shunting cards around, his eyes were completely focused sideways on the progress of Jimmy's hand as it inched it's way towards his trouser front.

His lips fell open, gradually wider as Jimmy's hand drew nearer.

As the tips of two of his fingers made contact with the tented fabric at Alfred's crotch, Jimmy gave a slight gasp, pausing for a moment to allow Alfred to re-evaluate should he decide he suddenly didn't wish to participate in the experiment.

But no protests were forthcoming.

Jimmy was surprised to note a slight hitch in Alfred's breathing at just the barest suggestion of contact.

As he ran the tips of his fingers up to the peak of the protrusion the change in breathing became more marked, and not just through nerves.

Jimmy was utterly astonished, silently remarking to himself that there clearly wasn't as much to this business as he had previously assumed.

He circled the pads of his fingers over what he presumed was the head of Alfred's penis, watching the twitching pulse at the side of Alfred's neck as a measure of how much effect even this lightest of touches was having.

The effect was truly remarkable. Alfred's breaths were shortening and his cheeks were rouged red.

Emboldened by his success, Jimmy reached forward further to bring his whole hand into contact, rolling his palm over the tip in place of his fingers and sliding his whole hand experimentally down and up the underside of Alfred's fabric-swathed erection (which was suddenly far more prominent than it had been a few moments earlier).

'Is that…good.' Said Jimmy tentatively, worried about breaking the moment (or sending Alfred running screaming for the doorway at the realisation of what they were doing) but equally concerned about receiving proper feedback.

Alfred nodded, his mouth now hanging open as Jimmy repeated the motion of sliding his open palm down his crotch. 'That is…' He gasped out, well on his way to completely forgetting why he should feel any dis-ease whatsoever about something that could feel quite so delicious. '…oh…yes, like that…' He said as Jimmy's fingers once again ran up and down his shaft, but this time with his fingers curling slightly to find and follow the outline of his penis under the fabric of his trousers and undergarments. '…keep doing it all the way up…' Jimmy complied, grinning to himself at the sight of Alfred's mouth now hanging open with abandon. '…oh just…harder, yeah, harder.' Alfred said breathily.

Jimmy shifted a little closer to allow him more leverage, staring intently down at the straining bulge that grew even more insistent and prominent under his hand as he followed Alfred's direction.

A small moan escaped from Alfred's throat as he accidently twisted his hand sideways while in transit.

Jimmy repeated the move, this time with languid and firm purpose.

'Oh God yes…' Came the response.

His grin now impossibly wide, Jimmy settled into a rhythm of stroking along the length of Alfred's penis while giving a small twist of his wrist upon approaching the tip, before shifting to slide his hand back down again to repeat the move from the beginning.

In what seemed like no time at all, Alfred's breaths had become forceful and erratic. Jimmy continued his ministrations with renewed vigor in response, marveling at the potency of the simple act in reducing a grown man to a hyperventilating mess.

Alfred wasn't a complete mess by that point though.

When Jimmy suddenly realised Alfred had lowered his own hands to his crotch area, he had a brief moment of panic that Alfred had had an inconveniently timed change of heart (and feared somewhat for the future of his face should Alfred decide that he had indulged in the act under coercion) but it proved to be unfounded.

Alfred briefly batted Jimmy's hand away to allow him to shakily, and hurriedly, get the front of his trousers open.

Jimmy's initial relief at the proof of Alfred's willing participation in the event was tinged with a distinct sense of alarm at the sight of Alfred pulling down the waistband of his underpants to fully release his erection.

Somehow the prospect of actually touching 'it', and 'it' alone, without the safety blanket of a few layers of fabric seemed utterly terrifying.

Alfred clearly had no such qualms. His breathing still ragged and primal, he grabbed for Jimmy's hand and guided it back to his penis, closing his fist around it to get Jimmy to do the same.

Jimmy's eyes widened at the unexpected texture of the skin, and the way it dragged as he moved his hand. He found himself wondering if some kind of liquid or grease might help things along, but as Alfred insistently clamped a hand over his to urge him back into the same firm rhythm as before Jimmy allowed such thoughts to leave his mind as he focused entirely on the pulsing at Alfred's neck that told him he was doing a damn good job.

'Oh God…Oh God…' That Alfred could form words at all at that point was something of a miracle. Jimmy watched as every muscle in Alfred's body suddenly tensed.

Almost too late, Jimmy realised what was imminent and endeavored to ensure that the 'direction of release' was not anywhere near his direction, reasoning that Alfred would have more than enough time to clean his waistcoat before breakfast the next morning.

When it was over he slowly extracted his hand, surprised to find himself panting heavily too (though nowhere near as intensely as Alfred) at the pent up tension.

Alfred sat; lolling back in his chair for a few moments, grappling with his breathing and heartbeat, unconcerned for the moment at being laid out sticky and exposed for the whole world to see (should the whole world happen to look through the door to the servant's hall).

After an inordinately long amount of time, Alfred finally pulled himself back up into an upright sitting position.

Both he and Jimmy pulled out their respective handkerchiefs to do a little spring cleaning.

'So was that…?' Jimmy said softly, already knowing the answer.

'There aren't words!' Said Alfred with a far-away smile. 'But I'm getting married as soon as bloody possible!' He said with a throaty chuckle.

Jimmy smirked in response. 'God, you're a filthy one aren't you!' He said in mock indignation.

In the days that followed things continued much as they always had, leaving both Jimmy and Alfred to marvel at having achieved the seemingly impossible task of sexual experimentation (and gratification) without any nasty fallout or awkwardness. In fact, it had gone on to become something of a private joke between them. At the sight of either of them handling something even vaguely cylindrical in shape, the two of them would invariably collapse into fits of giggles.

The situation between them was so…at ease…that Jimmy found himself pondering the potential for using Alfred as a test subject for another act that he had been thinking on.

But he resolved to shelf that particular notion for the time being, not wanting to risk the pleasant camaraderie that existed between himself and Alfred (and still not quite believing that he had gotten away with it once, let alone risking a second go).

Although he promised himself that he would take the opportunity in a heart-beat should Alfred bring it up again (so to speak) as he still found himself feeling an intense lack of the confidence and experience that he required in that arena in order to…well, be confident in that arena.

The chance came quite unexpectedly.

As Jimmy sat working the silver polish over one of over a dozen candlesticks laid out on the table in front of him (not to mention the seven trays, two dozen goblets, four teapots, nine serving dishes and a seemingly infinite number of serviette rings), he caught Alfred watching him out of the corner of his eye.

Jimmy glanced at the candle stick in his gloved hands and smirked. 'Thinking about nice things Alfred?' He said, anticipating another jovial jest in kind.

But Alfred didn't reply right away, and when he did it was merely to give a small, slightly agitated, laugh.

Glancing sideways at Alfred, Jimmy proceeded to give the candlestick far more attention than strictly necessary with his hand.

'Would you ever…' Alfred said hoarsely, suddenly feeling the need to clear his throat before speaking again. '…think about…practicing…some more?'

Jimmy's internal smirk grew wider.

'Perhaps…' He said softly. 'You know, if someone were willing.'

'I might be.' Said Alfred a little too quickly. If you wanted to.' He said, speaking deliberately slower.

Jimmy licked his lips and glanced behind Alfred over at the door.

'No time like the present…' He whispered.

'You'd never!' Said Alfred in shock. Indicating the sunlight around them as though the very fact of it being day meant that such things could not happen.

'Everyone's busy!' Said Jimmy with a grin. 'You know that. And Mr Carson knows there's no point checking on this lot…' He indicated the cavalcade of silverware on the table with a tilt of his head. '…for at least another few hours. So…' Jimmy slowly pulled off his gloves. '…what do you think?'

'I think you're mad.' Said Alfred simply.

'Am I to take that as a 'yes' then?' Jimmy said, repeating the phrase which had kick started it all on the previous occasion, with a devilish grin.

Alfred wiggled his eyebrows at him in response.

Jimmy leaned in a little, but paused.

'Alfred…' He said slowly. 'Would you mind if I tried something else?'

'Jimmy, you know I won't be doing none of that.' Said Alfred firmly, if a little apologetically.

'No, no…I don't mean…that. I was just wondering if I could…use my mouth, this time.'

Alfred's own mouth fell open, ostensibly to protest, but any such objections were quickly quelled by the small voice in his head that alerted him to the possible benefits of sheathing himself somewhere both warm and wet.

'Um…well, I suppose…perhaps…' He stuttered, blushing furiously.

'Good.' Jimmy cut in, unwilling to waste time now that the opportunity had presented itself.

Before Alfred could say anything more, Jimmy was under the table.

Alfred lightly rested his hands on the table top, clutching the silver polish rag for dear life as he felt Jimmy's fingers begin to work open his trousers.

There was something of an awkward pause at Jimmy's realisation that some work would be in order before Alfred was actually 'up' for the planned experiment.

As he took Alfred in hand, a slightly awkward endeavor given his cramped position under the table, he was a little disappointed to find that quite a bit of work was required to coax Alfred's arousal into play. He almost abandoned the task entirely at one point, but a quick 'keep going' from Alfred had him persevering.

Jimmy was intensely relieved (for the sake of his own pride, and the sake of his [hopeful] future conquest) when Alfred's penis began to finally pay proper attention to his efforts.

On the plus side, the long time spent working it over with his hand, merely inches from his face due to his kneeling position on the floor, gave him a far longer time to get acquainted with the various components of the 'penis' as an entity than he had had on the previous hurried occasion.

It was with only minor trepidation that Jimmy knelt up and brought his lips to the tip, opening his mouth enough to accommodate it (which turned out to be a surprisingly large amount) before darting his tongue out for a small taste of the underside.

A muffled moan of surprise and pleasure from Alfred reverberated from above the table.

Jimmy closed his mouth a little to bring his lips into full contact before pulling back, allowing the moistened head to slide slowly out of his mouth.

He licked his lips before leaning in for another go.

This time he kept his mouth open and accommodating for as long as he could manage in a prospective attempt to see how much of Alfred's erection he could actually accommodate. The answer seemed to be far less than he would have hoped.

He drew back, momentarily disregarding the noises coming from Alfred as he pondered the problem at hand; of precisely how the base of the penis could ever receive action during such an activity.

Jimmy leant forward again, this time without taking Alfred in his mouth and instead extending his tongue to lick long, firm and wet trails along the entire length of his penis.

If the twitching of the knee by the side of his head was anything to go by, Jimmy gauged that Alfred approved.

Smiling in triumph, Jimmy let the head of Alfred's erection slide into his mouth again, teasing at the underside with his tongue again as he did. He then drew back, not far enough to release Alfred's penis entirely, but far enough to elicit a disappointed gasp of protest which rapidly turned into a moan of intense pleasure as Jimmy slid forward again, finding he could get a little further that time before feeling in danger of suffocation.

The sensations assaulting Jimmy's various senses were not all entirely pleasant, in particular Alfred's scent, which did absolutely nothing for Jimmy whatsoever, but he did find himself becoming strangely attached to the feeling of opening his mouth wide to accommodate the offered appendage, and to the feeling of slippery skin under his tongue.

Jimmy moaned in contentment as he dipped his head forwards for another (metaphorical) bite.

The bite very nearly became a reality as Mr Carson's voice suddenly boomed from the doorway.

'Alfred, where is James?'

'Oh…he's…' Alfred was highly distracted by Jimmy extracting himself down below, but endeavored to speak as levelly as possible. 'I think he popped out, to get a drink or something, Mr Carson.'

'I don't think so…' At the sound of Thomas's voice, Jimmy's head very nearly collided with the table above. 'I would have seen him. I've just come from the kitchens.' Said Thomas.

Jimmy watched in abject terror as Thomas's shoes took a few slow steps into the hall, coming to a stop by the side of the table.

'Well, wherever he has gone…' Said Carson in agitation. 'I have some important information for the both of you. I will wait for James's return.'

Alfred's eyes widened, firstly at Mr Carson's words and secondly at the sight of him approaching the neighboring chair.

'No!' Alfred shouted.

Carson drew back a little in surprise. 'What on earth has gotten into you Alfred?'

It took Alfred a short while to arrive at the only workable plan.

'You're busy, Mr Carson. I know you are…' Said Alfred quickly. 'So perhaps just Mr Barrow could wait and tell us the news, so you can be on your way?'

Alfred felt fingernails digging painfully into his ankle.

He mentally apologized; silently challenging Jimmy to have come up with a better plan (one that wouldn't result in their instant dismissal).

Carson humphed in irritation.

Alfred shot Thomas a pleading look, which sent Thomas's eyebrows up skywards at the realisation that if Alfred was looking to him for help then the situation must be dire.

'I can do it, Mr Carson.' Said Thomas with a reassuring smile.

'Very well. And you might also remind James that taking breaks from work is not acceptable until after the work is completed.' Said Carson sternly as he turned and left.

Thomas's smile abruptly vanished.

'What have you gone and done?' He said to Alfred.

Alfred bit his lip miserably, giving a slight shake of his head.

Thomas sighed.

'Where's James?' He said, locking his gaze onto Alfred's, daring him to attempt to lie or withhold information.

Alfred grimaced, apologising profusely to Jimmy in his head as he glanced downwards.

Thomas followed his gaze to the wood of the table, then looked back up at him with a quizzical eyebrow.

Alfred glanced down at the table again, this time using his whole head to make the gesture absolutely clear.

Thomas glanced down at the wood of the table again, then up at Alfred's expression, then down at the table…his gaze suddenly snapped back up to Alfred's, eyes wide in shock.

Alfred bit his lip again and gave a small, pained, nod.

Thomas blinked. Raised a hand to his mouth. Lowered it again. Turned. And left the room.

Jimmy had no way of knowing the finer details of the silent exchange between Thomas and Alfred, but he comprehended enough in Alfred's pained 'Mr Barrow, I'm sorry…' as Thomas left the room to know that the only appropriate response was to hug his legs to his chest and bury his head in his knees.

Above, Alfred took a moment to refasten his trousers before reaching for the serving dish he had been polishing; desolate in the knowledge that that there was absolutely nothing he could say at that moment to improve the situation.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Jimmy was sick. Or at least he tried damn hard to be.

Luckily for him, by sheer good timing Carson happened to pass by the door of their communal washroom just in time to hear what  _sounded_  like productive retching. Thus, much to his relief, upon emerging from the room Jimmy was informed by Carson that he would most definitely be spending the day in bed.

Alfred, who appeared in the corridor seconds later, also clearly attempting to look unwell, was greeted with the highly unwelcome news that Jimmy would be out of action for the day; and more importantly that he, Alfred, would be paired up with one Thomas Barrow to cover the necessary workload.

Had Jimmy been able to meet Alfred's eye at that moment (rather than quickly averting his gaze) he might have responded to the lethal glare he was currently the recipient of with something akin to an apology…but also a tease that he had managed to get in first with regards to feigning sickness to Carson.

There was enough 'Jimmy' left in him despite his troubles to appreciate the small victory of the moment.

As it was, Jimmy simply scurried back to his room, reasoning the pained look on his face (not to mention the sudden embarrassed red flushing of his cheeks) would no doubt be taken by Carson as further evidence of sickness, happy to throw Alfred under the metaphorical bus if it meant he could safely avoid Thomas, or having to  _think_  about Thomas, for as long as humanly possible.

He slid straight back into bed, glad he hadn't taken the time to make it before heading back to the washroom that morning, and curled up into a tight fetal position; leaving only the tiniest glimmer of blonde visible above the blankets as he squeezed his eyes shut against the day.

Cursing Jimmy, cursing Carson, cursing his luck and cursing whatever temporary insanity (and now that he thought about it,  _really_  thought about it, what the bloody  _hell_  had he been thinking?) had led to the event that Thomas had the misfortune of chancing upon the end of, Alfred dressed and walked downstairs as slowly as he dared; dragging his feet every step of the way, resolved to keep his mouth firmly shut and his eyes on the floor.

'We're going to the library.'

Alfred halted and winced at the cold voice that sounded softly from beside him as he entered the servant's hall. He unwillingly looked up to find Thomas standing nonchalantly flipping through the pages of the ledger under the house bells.

'The library, Mr Barrow?' Alfred said, his voice coming out a lot gruffer than could be accounted for simply by the early hour of the morning.

'Yes.' Said Thomas in clipped tones. 'The library.' He thumbed over another page in the book. 'Where we will arrange the papers.'

Alfred's face wrinkled in intense discomfort.

'Yes, Mr Barrow.' He said, practically in a whisper.

He fully expected to be bombarded with anger, or at the very least questions, the moment he and Thomas were alone together. But when they headed over to the library after breakfast, the journey passed in total silence.

Bracing himself as they entered the room, Alfred was surprised to find the silence continued. He watched with extreme trepidation as Thomas continued to ignore him and instead walked over to attack the mess of papers left by Robert on the main desk.

Alfred crept slowly towards the coffee table, ready to begin sorting through the papers there. But he found himself forced to concede defeat.

'Mr Barrow?' He said, his voice a lot firmer than he had though himself capable of at that moment, as he let the papers in his trembling hand drop back down onto the coffee table.

'Yes, Alfred?' Said Thomas breezily, not looking around from his task, clearly resolute in his intention to let Alfred hang himself with rope that was entirely his own.

'It…' Alfred forced himself to begin, speaking directly to Thomas's back from across the room.

But he found himself somewhat struggling to think of a way to present 'it' in a manner that would in any way ameliorate the situation.

He instantly disregarded the initial instinctive declaration that 'It wasn't what it looked like!',  _that_  would be an outright lie. True, Thomas hadn't actually witnessed the event itself, but even if Alfred hadn't seen the look in Thomas's eyes as he left the servant's hall the day before, he reasoned that it would have taken someone far more innocent than even Ivy to misinterpret finding a person perched with their head between someone's legs under a table.

Alfred willed himself not to be distracted by thoughts of Ivy at that particular moment. He had problems enough as it was.

Alfred didn't like the second suggestion that his brain provided, that 'It didn't mean anything!', either. He just couldn't bring himself to give credence to the notion that there might have been 'anything' between he and Jimmy of that nature in Thomas's eyes.

Alfred was utterly sure in his own mind that there was not, that wasn't the problem, it was just that he couldn't stand to use the type of language more suited to a man defending himself to his wife for getting cheeky with a barmaid when he was discussing  _Jimmy_. But, he grudgingly conceded under the circumstances, in some ways, it  _did_  fit.

He suddenly found himself none too comfortable at the realisation that he was no longer in as strong a position of moral authority as he had been when the matter of Thomas's 'preferences' had first been broached the previous year.

'It was stupid.' Alfred eventually said, at a loss for anything else to say.

'Yes it bloody was.' Said Thomas harshly, abandoning his disinterested facade, shuffling the papers on the desk in front of him with far more vigor than required. 'You realise how close you came to being caught?' He said, angling his head a little as though to look over his shoulder but in the end thinking better of it, continuing to pretend to be at least minorly distracted by his work.

'I wasn't thinking.' Alfred said quietly, shaking his head in disbelief at himself.

'After everything…' Alfred watched, feeling utterly rotten, as Thomas's shoulders slumped forwards a little as he leant against the desk for support. '…After  _everything_  the two of you did, after everything you said to me last year…' Now it was Thomas's turn to shake his head. '…I just can't believe this. I really can't. The two of you go and shack up together? You… _filthy_ hypocrites.'

'Mr Barrow…' Said Alfred awkwardly, grimacing at the level of hurt in Thomas's voice. '…it's not what you think.'

'I will not be held responsible for my actions if you  _dare_  try and lie to me about this Alfred Nugent, I swear to God.' Thomas hissed harshly as he spun around to stare down Alfred.

'No. I don't mean…I mean…obviously it was…what you thought. Jimmy was…well, you know.' Alfred stuttered, shrinking under the intensity of Thomas's gaze but unswayed from the _need_ to make Thomas understand. 'It was Jimmy. He wanted to…I don't know, really…but he wanted to. And it…I suppose for me it was an interesting…offer.' Alfred concluded, ardently wishing for the floorboards to swallow him whole, but at the same time uncomfortably aware that his work was not done.

'Alfred…' Said Thomas slowly, a look of weary confusion taking the place of his earlier anger. '… _what_?'

Jimmy couldn't sleep.

He felt like he  _should_  sleep, what with having the rare pleasure of a day off, not to mention the fact that there were a large amount of thoughts and images running through his head that he would have very much liked to be free of for the next seven hours or so, but he just couldn't.

The unwelcome 'thoughts and images' were the problem at first, every time Jimmy got close to sleep upon first cocooning himself up under the bed sheets the image of either Alfred or Thomas, more specifically what he had done with Alfred that Thomas now knew (the former really only causing sleeplessness on account of the latter), forced itself into the forefront of his mind; causing his mouth to involuntarily utter obscenities to the empty room while his body contorted violently in an effort to shake the unwelcome intrusion from his mind.

Then, around about lunchtime, the heat made itself apparent.

The sunlight focused in through the windows, and general stuffy mustiness of the attic when all shut-up during the day, had the room at just over the comfortable temperature for one to be swathed in blankets.

He tried opening the windows. He tried kicking off all the blankets save for a single cotton sheet. Finally he tried stretching out on the bed with no sheets at all, but by that point his levels of disgruntlement had concentrated themselves into the space between his temples and he had an absolutely banging headache; rendering sleep utterly impossible.

With a deep and resounding sigh of defeat, Jimmy dragged himself out of bed and made his way shakily over to the bowl and pitcher of water that stood to the side of his dressing table.

He splashed some of the cool water onto his face, nose wrinkling in displeasure at the flecks of dust that had settled on the water's surface (given that he hadn't had time to change the water since the previous night, and being disinclined to risk stepping out into the corridor to do so now), then rested his hands either side of the basin, leaning heavily on the stand, wondering what on earth to do with himself for the day.

The fact that he was alone suddenly popped back into his mind, as did the fact that this was a very rare occurrence in the household (or at least under circumstances where one was not too tired to take advantage of the aforementioned fact). He was also alerted, as his temple throbbed angrily, only for him to wince at the reminder of why he was here (with a headache, alone) to the fact that there was one sure fire way to both kill a headache and clear the mind.

Grinning, he extracted himself from the wash stand and turned to head back to the bed, rubbing absently at the cotton of his nightshirt over his stomach as he did so.

As he walked past his dressing table the sight of his hand rubbing at his stomach caught his eye, highlighted as it was by the fact that the height of the (fairly substantial) array of mirrors caused his body to be cut-off at the shoulders and hips, with just his torso visible at that particular angle.

He rubbed at his stomach a little more firmly, watching the movement of his hand in the mirrors as though it belonged to someone else. His smile broadened as the fabric of his shirt was briefly raised above the waistband of his trousers to briefly reveal a slip of skin.

He repeated the motion of letting the cotton of his night shirt rumple under his palm, just enough to expose the contours of the muscles of his stomach; a delightful and perfectly anonymous sight from the headless figure in the mirrors.

His breath caught in his throat, not so much at what he was doing, but at what he  _could_  do.

And the delicious, mind-numbing, naughtiness of it.

As a pre-emptive strike against his mind reminding him  _why_  he wanted to numb it at that particular point, Jimmy set about sending his fingers on a tantalizingly slow journey down to the hem of his shirt, watching their progress intently in the mirror.

Hooking a fingertip underneath he proceeded to pull it up, uncovering an increasingly broad V-shape of flesh across his midriff as his hand travelled determinedly up and past his chest, holding the hem of his shirt somewhere just up and over his shoulder, angling his hand just a little more to the side to let the tiniest glimpse of a nipple come into view from under the bunched up fabric.

He stared for a while, finding the man in the mirror quite a beautiful sight.

And the second hand that appeared to tug the fabric further up the chest in order to increase the canvas over which it had to roam and stroke only added to the enticement.

Jimmy's hand, running up the middle of his chest, gently sliding over each nipple in turn, didn't need to travel up to his neck for him to realise his pulse was racing.

He broke the moment to pull his shirt off up over his head, discarding it haphazardly on the floor beside him.

His eyes returned to the mirrors, traveling down to the waistband of his pyjamas.

He hesitated, teasing an imaginary audience besides himself, before turning away from the dressing table, watching over his shoulder as he pulled his pyjama bottoms down.

Holding them in place just below the curve of his buttocks for a moment, Jimmy let them fall to the floor.

He inhaled sharply, biting his lip at the view as he turned back around, somehow not believing he was able to stare so shamelessly and openly at the view; despite knowing that he, here alone, could do whatever he damn well pleased.

He watched himself becoming hard without even so much as a single touch to assist the process.

With a sense of sudden urgency, and a haze of arousal pleasantly clouding  _all_  thoughts, Jimmy leant forwards a little to brace himself upright against the dresser with one hand, while bringing the other to give a firm, open palmed, stroke along the underside of his penis.

He gave a half-moan, half-sigh, at the way that the man in the mirrors stomach muscles and thighs tensed at the touch.

He closed his fingers around himself, letting every part of his body alternately melt and contract, save for his eyes which remained fixed ahead, as he tugged and teased at his erection.

Heat rose within him, externalized in a thin sheen of sweat, his muscles strained to keep him in position as his legs grew weak, his eyes feasted on all there was to see; but somehow it wasn't enough.

There was more he wanted. At least, more that his  _body_ wanted.

But there was no way to obtain it.

With a disgruntled grunt, Jimmy's gaze dropped down onto the table in front of him.

Not quite believing what he was thinking, he began to slowly go over the available objects. Too wide, too short, too…

Then he spotted the hairbrush. Or rather, the handle of the hairbrush.

'Well you've come this far love…' An annoyingly smug voice that he couldn't quite place asserted from inside his head.

Jimmy paused, hand still wrapped around himself, regarding the hairbrush, suddenly the only thing he could see on the table; wondering.

He abandoned his current endeavor to reach over and pick it up, running the smooth handle between his palms as he considered.

His eyes shifted back to the mirrors, then to the brush, then back to the mirrors again.

He smiled.

He grabbed the small, round, shaving mirror from the dressing table, bringing it down to the floor with him as he sank onto his knees.

But he found himself unsatisfied with the amount of himself he could view in such a small surface.

Frustrated at the delay, now that he had finally made his mind up, Jimmy reluctantly got to his feet again, leaving the brush lying on his discarded pyjama trousers.

He grasped the large, freestanding set of three mirrors from the table, carelessly allowing the sides to clatter against the central mirror as he quickly sank to the floor again.

Kneeling down, knees spread wide, he set up the mirrors in front of him, taking a moment to tease at the skin of his inner thigh ( _watching_  himself tease at the skin of his inner thigh) before coming out of his reverie and reaching for the hairbrush.

Marveling at his own ridiculousness, but compelled by the potentialities, he placed the tip of the bristled head of the brush down against the floor, angling the handle upwards between his legs.

Finding his entrance with the pad of a finger, while awkwardly attempting to bring the brush handle to it, had him feeling so utterly foolish that he very nearly abandoned the endeavor.

As he slid down onto the handle, he found in his relaxed state that the moment of penetration was achieved with far too much ease to excite and was left feeling more foolish than ever.

But he endeavored to give it a chance.

And was left feeling very glad that he had.

When he returned his hand to his penis, he found his muscles contracting, as they usually did. But this time they found the unexpected intrusion.

Jimmy felt a wave of pleasure at the feeling of his body attempting to close up, but finding it impossible to do so.

The sight in the mirrors as he looked down to see the double hit of his hand at his erection while the brush handle remained poised, partially buried, between his legs, suddenly seemed less of the ridiculous and more of the beautifully and arousingly debauched leaning.

He pushed himself down a little further, wonderfully distracted by the relentless motion of his hand as he masturbated, wondering if he could actually chance attempting to actually ride the brush rather than simply being impaled on it.

But the impending promise of orgasm and the logistical difficulties of the thought had him content to remain immobile, clenched around his makeshift companion, grinding himself into a frenzy with his hand.

Opening his knees somehow wider, moving his hand somehow faster, bearing down somehow further he…was suddenly distracted by the sound of the door opening behind him.

'Jimmy we need to…' Thomas's speech ended as abruptly as it begun.

Jimmy froze. At that moment unable to contemplate speech, movement or even giving over to appropriate embarrassment.

But he was woefully aware, even through his shock, that whatever Thomas couldn't see from the back (which was more than enough to give a fairly accurate picture of what was occurring), the mirrors were giving him a crystal clear view of at the front.

'Oh my God…I…'

Clearly unable to come up with an ending to that particular sentence, and unwilling to remain in the room long enough to fathom one, Thomas made a hasty retreat; tossing a harried 'Sorry' over his shoulder before quickly closing the door behind him.


End file.
